Pirates: A new beginning

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Marius van der Grise lounged in the luxurious captain's cabin of the Devastation. If not for the salty breeze that blew through the fluttering curtains, he might have been in a royal suite: the wood of the bed and cabinets was richly carved and highly polished, a coverlet of emerald silk damask lay upon the thick featherbed, and the tea service was of the finest porcelain. He languidly sipped wine from a silver goblet that gleamed in the candlelight; its deep red was echoed in his embroidered waistcoat. He was neither short nor tall, thin nor fat, handsome nor ugly. In fact, were he to be dropped into the midst of any gathering of people who shared his love of fine textiles, he'd never be noticed. It was the mind behind those sleepy grey eyes, the mind that never stopped working, that made the difference.

Black Pete should be returning soon with the tax-chest. Marius was sure that it held payment enough to keep the crews of both ships satisfied until they made the larger score that he had promised them. The challenges before him now would be keeping their interest in the ultimate payoff - Lord knew how many pirates he'd lost to the lure of easy money wasted on easier women - that, and keeping Black Pete in line. There was nothing more hazardous than an underling who grew too big for his britches.

 

Sizeing up the man standing in front of him, Arvin realised that he could be in real trouble, given his wounded, and weakened state. His only chance was to end this quickly, since he didnt have the endurance for an extended duel.

The pirate, sensing his opponents weakness, advanced on Arvin quickly, swinging his sabre with brute force. Staggering under the blows, Arvin tried to push back. Looking deep into the mans dark brown eyes, beads of sweat poured down his face.

Suddenly pushed back, he stumbled off balance. Desperately wiping the sting of the sweat out of his eyes, he barely had time to avoid a downward thrust from the pirate. Feeling the slash of steel on his flesh, followed by the warm sensation that accompanies blood loss, Arvin knew he hadnt been quick enough.

Cursing, he managed to regain his balance, though his cutlass grew heavy. Feeling pain etch into his sword hand, he looked into the gap toothed, and yellow brown grin of the pirate he was facing. Knowing that his death was grinning at him, Arvin sought a desperate measure.

Deciding that death was innevitable, if the fight continued, Arvin charged forward onto the mans sabre. Taking it on the lower right of his abdomen, in such a way as to leave a serious, but recoverable wound, he used the moment where his opponents sword was...occupied... and Stabbed his cutlass deep into his enemies chest.

With a graon of anguish, the pirates grin of victory turned to one of bafflement, as he slowly dropped to his knees. Blood came bubbling, and frothing, out of his mouth, as he slowly toppled forward, to lay face down in a growing pool of his own blood.

Staggering away from the corpse, and off the sabre, Arvin lurched for a moment as the world swam in his eyes, then he too collapsed. Blood loss, and near fatal exertion finally getting the better of him. As his vision blacked out, the last concious thought he had was of what he was going to do to Black Pete.

[ September 14, 2004, 22:57: Message edited by: Takara ]

 

Driven back, and having lost their numerical advantage to the fierceness of the Marauders crew, and the arrival of another twof-dozen of fresh crewmen, and now watching their only hope of escape being blown into a thousand pieces, two thirds of the raiders threw down their weapons, and up their arms.

The remaining few were rapidly slaughtered, and the captives were quickly bound and put under the guard of half a dozen crewmen.

Next thing was to find the Captain... and they found him, lying in a puddle of his own blood.

Immediately, one of the pirates checked his wrist, and saw that he was still alive. Using a spare small sail for a brancard, he was hurried off to Alexa, where Turk was also being tended to.

After that, a four-man patrol was sent out to gather any remaining crewmembers, and the rest started to tend to their wounds as best they could... they'd lived another day.

Then, Jean rapidly went around recovering his throwing knives, and all was getting back to as normal as possible after an assault like this, and the captain spending a lot of time bleeding.

 

Sol struggled up the harbour ladder. His head throbbed and he wracked with pain all over, numerous cuts made worse with the impact he made on the water.

Reaching the top, he spat blood onto the cobbles and fell on his back breathing in deeply.

Around him men were being tied up, but Sol didn't care, in fact he decided he would have a sleep, his energy taken from the blast, the fight and the swim. Right there on the cobbles seemed comfortable enough so he closed his eyes.

 

Awakening with a start, Turk first instinct was to reach for his sword, only to realize that it wasn't there. It came back to him, a little slower then the first time, but he bagan to recall what had happened.

As Turk looked around, he saw that the room was slightly more crowded then it had been when he was last concious. He had been moved off of the table in the centre of the room to one of the smaller cots to the side. Lying prone on the table now was his captain, looking like he had met Davy Jones and kicked his arse to get back.

Turk struggled, but finally managed to get up, feeling a little more confident on his feet then he had earlier. Glancing out the window, he could see that it was almost dusk, but wheter he had been asleep for a day or a week, he couldn't tell.

Lying on cots similar to his own on the far side of the captain, Turk noticed some fellow crew members lying in various states of pain and semi-wakefullness. Turk knew that they had won the battle, because if they hadn't, none of these men would have been left alive. The cost of the battle was harsh though. There were a few men with missing fingers and hands; one fellow with his right arm up to his elbow missing; another with a noticeable gash down his side. Turk barely recognized Sol, the quiet Corsair, who's face was still darkened with soot. When he looked closer, Turk noticed that Sol's dark hair was shorter then before, singed by what must have been one hell of a fire.

When he turned to his captain, Turk knew what it had cost him to retake the ship. There were numerous patches over Arvin's body, with a large one located right near his abdomen. His overcoat that he had worn to shore had been torn up and used stop the numerous blood flows over his body.

Looking around, Turk had the chance to see the mass amounts of damage that had been done to the crew. And he knew that it could have been worse, had there not been such a good sawbones in town.

While Turk acted as the surgeon on the Maurader, it was more due to the fact that he had a carpenter's saw and knew how to use it then his medical skills. The work that was done here was down right impressive. Turk knew that he would definitely have to shake the fella's hand who had patched them up. WIth that thought, Turk pulled up a chair and sat down next to the captain's still form.

 

Alexa was frantic, tired and splattered with blood.

Even with the number of pirates in Freetown, she had never seen the aftermath of a battle like this before. She was quickly running out of supplies, and had resorted to using whatever material she could get her hands on so she could continue to help these people.

Her most pressing concern was the man who appeared to be the captain. He had been brought in, unconsious and bleeding from many injuries. She had managed to stop the bleeding and stitch up and bandage the most serious injuries, but she was concerned about the amount of blood loss that he had experienced.

As she approached the captain, Alexa noticed her first patient sitting next to him. Mentally shrugging, she walked over, carrying a moderately clean cloth and a bowl of hot water, and she started to clean the worst of the blood from the captain's face.

Glancing at the concerned face of the man sitting next to him, she smiled. "I have done what I could to help your captain, and it seems that he will survive."

She handed the bowl and cloth to the stranger and indicated that he should take over. "I have other patients to care for. Call me if you need anything."

She turned to another patient, smiling inwardly at the startled expression on the man she had just talked to.

 

Sol awoke. The throbbing in his ears had ceased but there was a distinct constant hum. He rolled to his feet and groaned as fresh pain rolled across his body from the bruising. He swooned, but gathered himself to his feet. He saw Turk sitting with the captain. Apart from the slow rise ond fall of his chest, he could have been dead.

He walked over, laying a hand on Turk's shoulder, "Good to see you up Turk. I'll get you something to eat, ok?" Turk shook his head

"I'm not hungry." was all he said and continued to sit, contently watching over Avrin.

Sol made to move out from the room, but then he noticed the woman Sawbones. He went over to thank her. She was struggling to stem the blood from a deep wound in one of the pirates.

He was about to say, "I came to thank you" then decided it was the wrong time and said instead "Would you like some help?"

 

Marius was waiting on deck when Black Pete arrived with the chest. With a nod to his First Mate to mind the helm, he rapped sharply on the Quartermaster’s door and entered before receiving a reply. The two of them quickly counted the take and divided it according to the complex formula laid out in the Devastation’s articles while Pete relayed his report of the battle. Casualties were no higher than Marius had expected, and the men who hadn’t been smart enough to make their escapes were better left on shore anyway. Every business venture had its price.

“The explosion? I told you to handle this quietly.” He fixed Pete with a piercing eye.

“None o’ my doing, at least not directly. We boarded a ship and sailed ‘er up next to the Marauder. Someone must’ve made a wrong guess as to who was really to blame for th’attack, an’ blown ‘er up for us.”

“As long as the trail won’t lead back to us, that’s fine. I want no pursuit from the town. But you’re sure the Marauder will follow us?”

“Oh, aye, she’ll be on our wake as soon as what’s left of ‘er crew is holdin’ body and soul together. We left ‘er seaworthy, as ye said, an’ I made sure t’ have a little chat wi’ Arvin before I left.” Pete chuckled viciously.

“Good. We need a third ship for this venture, and one that doesn’t understand what her role is to be. The Marauder’s reputation makes her perfect.” Marius handed heavy pouches to the two other men. “See that the men are paid, and keep a close ear to happenings in town. I want to make sure that we don’t get too much of a lead on Captain DeGrath.”

 

Sun, sea, salt in the air, a sizeable chesrt getting dragged to the Quartermaster... on days like these, Reeves reflected, it was good to be a pirate.

Even if you couldn't stand rum.

Tring to keep his attentionf rom wanderting too far from the helm, Reeves began running a coin aacross his knuckles, imagining a whole hored of ones quite like to it and all the pretty things he could get with them.

 

Alexa looked up at the man who just offered some help. She glanced over him, assessing his injuries, and decided that she did need an extra pair of hands in helping the wounded men.

"Aye, I could use some help here." She handed him a cloth and showed him where to put pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding.

Alexa sighed with frustration. Her supplies were almost gone, and there were still more people that needed her help. She shook her head. Wishing that she could get more supplies on such short notice was useless.

She looked at the pirate who offered to help, then realized that if there was anyone who could probably find what she needed, it was him.

Alexa looked at him, and took over the job of staunching the bleeding. "Actually, there's something else that you could do for me. I need supplies, but I can't leave these men alone. Preferrably things like bandages and medicines, but anything that you can get your hands on, I could use."

 

Having surveyed roughly organized what was left of the crew, and with every severely injured man sent to the sawbones, and the lightly injured and the fit back on ship, Jean reviewed for himself the situation....

The Marauder was in dire need for repairs, only 14 crewmen were left on their feet, with another 17, amongst whom the captain, injured and out of action, and apparently a large amount of gold was missing.

Still he was alive, scratched more then injured, and with a healthy amount of gold due from said pirate captain, with a good chance that there'd be more of it yet to come.

In the meantime, Turk had come to the ship for medical supplies, and seeing as the captain and crew were both needed badly, the ships entire medical stores, as well as a decent bit of gold to pay for more, had been sent away.

Slowly however, the crew was getting over the shock, and anger was starting to flare up. If the captain didn't get back up his feet soon, trouble was due to arise.

This all was not his concern though, and Jean would not soon be bored, as he had pirates to scam out of their money, making sure he returned a fair bit of it on the dice, and he spent a lot of time learning from the few veteran pirates left standing, the finer points of dagger combat.

He had his life, and thus, life was good

 

Sol moved out onto the street, several of Alexa’s home made explosives in his pockets. He could probably buy the supplies, but with no coin on him, and no time to get hold of any, he decided filching supplies was the best idea. Running through his mind, he decided to visit the High Herbalist, a man well supplied in all kinds of herbs and medicines, but in the main he dealt in smuggled drugs.

Of course, that made him rich, and that also made him powerful. Which then meant guards, traps and locks. The streets were reasonably clear, and Sol made his way easily to the High Herbalist's warehouse. If this went through to the hasty plan he'd thrown together, he'd never be able to return to Freetown. If it failed, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything again.

The warehouse was certainly well guarded. Constant regular patrols and a high outer wall. Ever since the famed Captain Father Paddock had ran off with a shipment of Opium straight from the warehouse with little trouble, the High Herbalist had kept everything well protected.

The place was well lit, torches and lanterns bracketed to the walls. He took an explosive out of his pocket. He reflected that explosives were never a good idea, considering the pain they’d caused him last time, but pushed it from his mind as he charged across the open harbour, lighting an explosive as he went. The guards at the gate, saw him and levelled their muskets.

Sol hurled the explosive, it bounced from the gate, and before it hit the floor, the blast erupted, blowing gate and guards both away from Sol. Sol was surprised at the size of the explosion, but he pondered it little as he continued his rush through the smoke, that stank of pig ****. The guards lay semi unconscious, the blast merely stunning them.

Guards were moving to gate, and Sol lit another bomb. He had cut the fuse short on this one and it was still in the air when it exploded. The blast failed to hit the guards, but the light half blinded them, and they could see nothing through the acrid smoke as Sol dashed right, heading for the side door of the warehouse. He waited until the guards saw him, and dropped his last explosive, as he moved through the door. He kept running to the back of the warehouse, grabbing several sacks from different piles, each containing different medicines. He was weighed down by six sacks when the bomb went off. Bricks shattered, and he heard men screaming as he spun raced through the carriage door.

The guards were either blind or unconscious, but there were still fresh troops who had taken longer to get to the gate after the first explosion. Sol fled as the round balls of the muskets cracked the mortar at his side. Finally he hurtled the gate as a bullet grazed his leg. He stumbled but ran on down the street, cutting down an alley and then another and then another, before knocking a man from his feet as he came out of his house. Sol knocked him back inside and kicked the door closed behind him, dropping the sacks on the man to knock the wind out of him and keep him quiet.

He sat down on the sacks and laid his scimitar on the throat of the man as a final measure to keep him silent and breathed deeply as he heard the guards rush by. He even surmised they would not recognise him, as he was still coated in soot, that he seemed dark skinned like one of the island men.

Satisfied it was safe, Sol got up and dropped a money pouch on the man’s forehead. “For your continued silence friend. And for all the bed-sheets and bandages you can get your hands on within the hour I’ll give you a copper for each. I’ll be back then.” He lifted the sacks and walked into the street, to half jog to the Sawbones.


Coated in sweat, soot, and blood from his leg he dropped the sacks in front of Alexa, “I’ll have your bandages when I get back.” He said as he stepped out of the door.

[ September 15, 2004, 19:47: Message edited by: The Kilted Crusader ]

 

The first moment that Arvin realised he wasnt dead was when he realised that his entire body was aching. Even hell wouldnt hurt this much! Even so, being alive meant he had the chance to stick Black Pete's head on a pike.

Fluttering his eyes open he surveyed his surroundings. The first clue he was at a sawbones was when the coppery scent of fresh blood assaulted his senses, and the smell of alcohol mixed into it. The second clue were the groans that filled his ears.

Turning his head slowly to the side, the visage of a sleeping Turk appeared in view. This then told him how the battle had gone. It was a victory, though he didnt feel much like celebrating. Turning the other way, he saw a woman tending to some of his crew.

Slowly swinging his legs off the table he was on, and gently levering himself to his feet, he moved over to talk to her. Despite the renewed ache and pain of moving, he wouldnt lie idle. Not only was pride a factor in his choice to move, the most important thing right now, was for his crew to see him up and mobile.

Being severely wounded was not good for a captain, and he had to be back on his feet, like it or not, as soon as possible to maintain moral, and more importantly, authority.

Reaching out a hand, he gently touched the lass on her shoulder. As she whirled around in surprise, he nearly lost his balance.

When she saw him up, her eyes narrowed, and she looked angry.

"You should be resting! you're in no shape to be up!"

"I be sorry miss, but I dont be havin' the luxury o' rest. I'd like to be thanking ye fer yer hard work tho. From the looks of me crew, ye've been looking after them just grand."

 

Turk woke just as his captain was heading out the door, leaving that pretty medicine lady slightly flustered. He hurried to catch up, and explain the current situation to the captain.

Turk told Arvin of how many were lost, including the Quartermaster, and the rest of the 'leading' body of the crew. He told of how the young knife throwing man had managed to get things into a semblence of order, from what Turk had managed to gather from his quick trip to the ship.

"I don't know, Captain. 'e seems smart enough, and he made no moves on your spot as captain. I hate to say that without 'im runnin things, there'd be more dead, yourself included."

Turk watched as Arvin continued to walk towards the docks, absorbing this information. Turk knew what question was comming next, he just hopped that he had the right answer.

 

"Hmm... I did promise that young man a fair bit o' coin, so I cant be blamin' him fer looking out for me. Even so.... he has done a pretty good job by the sounding of it."

As he hobbled along to his ship, Arvin scratched his beard. With the Master dead, he had lost his most valued and trusted advisor. He'd be needing someone he trusted...someone extremely competant, and most importantly, someone trusted by the crew. There was really only one candidate that sprung to mind.

With a smile slowly cracking his stern demeanor, he stopped, and looked over at Turk.

"Ye do be realisin' that we need a new Mater. One trusted, and respected by the crew. And on a side note, trusted by me. The role is equelly as important as mine be aboard ship, and the wrong fella could be the downfall of a vessel."

Looking straight into Turk's eyes, Arvin smiled, "I've known ye longer than any other, and ye've been with me through just about every damned thing ye care to name. Ye might not be overly social, and I understand why, but the crew look up to ye. And more important, to me at least, is that I be trustin' ye. So provided they agree, and I'll make sure that be happenin', do ye want the role of Master on the Marauder? I cant be thinking of any better?"

 

Sol, pushed the door open with his back. He was surprised at how many bandages and sheets the man had been able to filch in such a short time, and that meant the only thing left in Sol’s pocket was the cloth of his trousers. Dumping the sheets on an empty bed, he put the bandages to one side, and sliced the several sheets with his knife for make shift bandages.

Leaving most of sheets uncut, he walked out the door. The stench inside the Sawbones was beyond palpable. Outside he drew in a deep breath, and felt sorry for the Sawbones, who was coping with the smell and saving the crew.

Sighing, he turned and walked back in to help the Sawbones with the men.

 

Alexa thanked the man who brought the supplies curtly. She decided that she didn't want to know where he had found the supplies, and just counted her blessings that he had found enough supplies to last a while.

She addressed her newfound helper. "I need to mix some of the medicines you brought, so I need someone to keep an eye on the men who were seriously hurt, make sure that their injuries don't start bleeding again. Would you do that? If they do start to bleed again, let me know."

Without waiting for a relply, she grabbed the sack of medicines and went into a back room.

 

Turk didn't know what to say. He was never a leader of men. He had always been just another crewman. But his captain had askes=d something of him, and he had no agree. Turk gave the captain a quick nod, and the two men continued to walk to the ship.

Both men were quiet. Arvin plotting in his mind his next step, and several steps after that; and Turk, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.

 

Knowing that the gold would be burning holes in the crews' pockets, Marius summoned his First Mate. "Reeves, organize shore time for the men. Make sure they understand, however, that they're to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, and that they're not to tell where their riches came from. Give them a plausible cover story." He wasn't afraid of being disobeyed by his crew. The first time he'd ordered a man keel-hauled for saying the wrong word within his hearing had convinced the crew that their captain was not a man to be trifled with.

"But Reeves," he went on, "I want you to control what the good folk of Freetown know of us and our plans. Drop the right words in the right places, and pay close attention to the reactions. While no one must know our destination, I want to be sure that good Captain Arvin DeGrath follows when he's summoned. And arrange for the delivery of these supplies." He handed over a carefully written list and some extra coins.

 

Watching Turk and more importantly, Arvin, return to the ship, Jean let out a deep, relieved sigh, knowing that finally, he was to be able to get back to his normal routine, and stop having to be the organizer for what was left of the crew.

The other crewmen started cheering when they saw their captain coming, and Jean politely joined them

Ah... things would be back to normal before long... although he wondered how they were going to find this 'Black Pete' or whoever this that nemesis of Arvins was.

For now, he was back to raw recruit, and for the moment, that was just fine. Arvin had promised him a bonus per corpse, and with the men he'd slain, that meant he could live large even if he decided to pack and leave where he was.

No chance of *that* happening though... Years of living on the street had made him have a nose for lucrative opportunities... and that nose was going berserk with the scent of gold.